When I was a kid my mom would tell me ghost stories. It was a struggle for her to entertain me at times, but one thing that had always been consistent about me is my love for the macabre and things that give me the heebie jeebies.

My friend Gillian and I met at our job last year. Like most of my long lasting friendships, we bonded over our mutual love for horror films and cemeteries. Two weeks ago, she invited me to go to a women’s meetup in a local graveyard she and I love to frequent.

Much like Lydia Deetz, I myself am strange and unusual. My entire life I was always a little (a lot) more morbid and creepy than the average Joe. In elementary school I had a best friend that matched my energy, but eventually he moved away. The two of us were so fascinated by horror and death, perhaps because it seemed to follow us. Maybe it was the passing of our elderly relatives, or the passing of our young classmate.

In January I broke up with my ex-partner of 8.5 years. I knew we weren’t meant to be together, but the thought of a life outside of the one I knew was horrifying. I was complacent in my own life. It was as though I was experiencing the bystander effect, standing idly by watching someone die. Metaphorically I suppose you could say I was.

Less than a month after my return from Taiwan, life hit me with a curveball so unexpected that the only reaction I could give was a simple smile.